


The Fisher King

by Aloysia_Virgata



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysia_Virgata/pseuds/Aloysia_Virgata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now here he is, all set to meet the parents again. Dana Scully, wholesome as Sunday roast and fresh-baked bread. Perhaps she could be what he’s been craving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt: In need of a fluffy story. Can you write an AU story where M/S meet at a DC coffee shop and flirt/banter? Maybe she blows him off at first but he's persistent with this pretty redhead in her big plaid suit, and shows he's actually smart and sweet. Maybe they have a one night stand. Or maybe he'll actually call the next day. And maybe she'll pick up and agree to look over some cases for him over lunch/dinner? :)

Mulder is slouched against the wall at Neddy’s Café, documents and photographs spread before him. The place is full this morning and he’s getting irritated looks for his flagrant use of space. He ignores them, wiping a smear of cherry Danish filling from a phone record.

The bell on the door jangles and Mulder sees a petite redheaded woman weaving among the crowded tables, looking futiley for an open seat. Mulder takes in her serious expression, her boxy plaid jacket, and pegs her for either a newly minted accountant or a Congressional aide from some corn-infested state. She shrugs her briefcase higher on her shoulder, her rusty brows furrowed.

Mulder catches a whiff of her perfume when she walks past him to the register, her stride brisk. He estimates her to be 5'3 and maybe 115 pounds with the briefcase. Her waist is narrow, flaring to shapely hips. Clearly fit.

The woman heads uncertainly back to the door with her coffee, looking somewhat lost. Mulder sighs. It’s not like he’s getting work done anyway.

“Hey,” he calls. “You want to sit down?”

She appraises him frankly, her eyebrow raised now. “I think I’ll take it to go.”

Mulder fumbles in his pocket, shows her his badge. “Vetted by the federal government, miss.”

She smiles a little at this, her expression shifting as she makes her way to the chair across from him.

“Fox Mulder,” he says, extending a hand. “In case you couldn’t read it from fifteen feet away.”

“Fox,” she repeats, shaking his hand. “That’s unusual. Dana Scully. I’m with the medical examiner.”

She settles across from him, sipping her coffee. He notes that her eyes are a dazzling blue.

“So that would be Doctor, then. Not miss.”

She sniffs. “Miss is rather condescending anyway.”

Mulder reaches down and grabs a large white paper bag from the floor. He sets it on the table between them. “You hungry?” he asks. “I always buy a bunch of things to justify hogging the space.”

Dr. Scully peers into the bag and withdraws an almond croissant. “Thanks,” she says. “You must come here a lot to have a system developed. No coffee at the FBI?”

“Satellite office. So you’re at OCME, huh? Must be a ballistics expert by now.”

She grins, licking marzipan from her fingers. “We just had the hundredth DC natural of the year,” she tells him, using the medical examiner’s term for a gunshot homicide.

“Ouch,” he says. “It’s barely spring.

“Crack. People get stupid.” She checks her watch. “I’ve got to run in a few.”

“Hot date with a cold body?”

Her laugh is surprisingly goofy. “Something like that.”

Mulder drums his fingers on the table, admiring the light freckles across her nose. She runs her fingers through that heavy auburn hair, shaking it over her shoulders before taking another sip of her coffee. Less than a year since Diana moved away, but maybe it’s time…

“Scully,” he finds himself saying.

She cocks her head, confused.

“Sorry, bad habit. Anyway, uh. Listen. I don’t know what your plans are and I didn’t offer you the seat for this reason or anything, but you know, you seem really interesting and I – shit. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. Clearly it is not time.

She pokes his hand with a coffee stirrer. “Agent Mulder, are you trying to ask me out?”

“Not effectively.” He sighs. “I had a bad divorce a while back.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mulder shrugs. “Anyway. I don’t normally do this, Go enjoy your autopsy, Dr. Scully. Maybe I’ll see you around.” He passes her a blueberry muffin. “For the road.”

“Thanks.” She gets to her feet, hoists her bag back onto her shoulder. Mulder sees her chewing her lip, an uncertain look on her face. “Um, I don’t normally do this either, but maybe I can reciprocate sometime? For the pastries.” She pulls a business card from her pocket and hands it to him.

He puts it in his wallet, and she’s gone by the time he looks up.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s half hoping she won’t answer, but she picks up on the third ring and he finds himself more relieved than anticipated.

“Dana Scully,” she says.

“Hi, this is Fox Mulder. We, uh, you gave me your card at the coffee shop the other morning?”

“Hey, it’s good to hear from you. What’s up?”

He doodles on a yellow legal pad. “Dr. Scully, apropos of our prior conversation, I need to ask you a few questions. First of all, can you please disclose your planned whereabouts for tomorrow night?”

“That’s a rather personal question, Agent Mulder.” Her voice gets a touch louder, as though she’s leaning into the receiver.

Mulder takes this as a good sign. “Routine question, ma'am.”

“Well, I have to work until four and then I might go to the gym. I’m sorry I can’t be more precise. Is this about something serious?” She sounds like she’s smiling.

He is too. “It’s probably best that we discuss it in person.”

“I see. Phone could be bugged?”

Actually, there’s a decent chance. “Dr. Scully, I can disclose the nature of my investigation next time we meet. How about Fado at 7?”

“Anything for the federal government, Agent Mulder.”

***

He gets there early to scope the place out, and finds that she’s already there.

Dana shrugs her bag a little higher on her shoulder. “Navy brat. Fifteen minutes early or you might as well be late.”

Mulder files this away even as he resists the urge to profile her. She’s wearing gray corduroy pants and a black sweater, boots with a low heel that bring her just above his chin. They head to a table and he sits with his back to the wall.

“So Agent Mulder,” she says, “is this where you shine a bright light on me and continue your interrogation?  Handcuff me to a chair?” Her smile is really more of a smirk, an amused pout. She has a sprinkling of freckles dusting her fine-boned face.

“Depends on your level of compliance, Doctor.”

***

She dunks a fry into her curry sauce. “Look, I’m not doubting the existence of extraterrestrials. I’m just saying that the technology doesn’t exist for them to get here. And even if it did, why would they want to? Depending on where they are they’re looking through their telescopes and seeing us in powdered wigs and tights, or building pyramids or dinosaurs.”

Mulder finds himself smitten, finds that he wants to stay here and argue with this redheaded pathologist all night. “But you’re basing your speculation of _their_ capabilities on _our_ knowlege of physics.”

“The laws of physics are universal invariants!” she exclaims.

“Well, what about string theory? You can’t claim all the implications of that are remotely understood. But it looks like a promising explanation for how the universe operates and the smallest particles of existence.”

Dana stops chewing, stares at him with her mouth slightly open. “You know about string theory?”

The enraptured look on her face borders on erotic and he is grateful as hell for his arcane reading habits. “Oh yeah, sure. Mandatory FBI agent training.”

She snorts. “Sure. What the hell kind of division are you in exactly?”

Mulder considers this. “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Really?” she asks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he replies, draining his beer. “But you let me buy you another round and I’ll raise your security clearance.”

***

She takes another bite of the brownie sundae in the middle of the table. “Monty Props though, Jesus. As a pathologist I have to say that profiling killers seems a lot more important than flying saucers.”

He is pleased by the lack of judgment in her voice. “Well, I guess people might say the same about being a pathologist versus working with live patients.”

“Fair point,” she says, but looks unconvinced.

Mulder signals the waiter for the check, already thinking about seeing this woman again.  She’s not Diana, she doesn’t share his beliefs but she seems like she might share his passion.

***

He walks her to her car, shoulders hunched forward and hands jammed in his pockets.

“So,” she says, rocking back on her heels. “I had a nice time.”

“Me too.”

They smile at each other for a moment, Mulder curious to see what he’s going to do now. He steps closer, feeling conspicuously tall.

Dana studies him. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“I was planning on it, yeah.”

“Good. You gonna show me your gun?”

His smile widens. “How do you know I’m carrying?”

She moves into his arms, canting her face up to him. “Agent Mulder,” she says, “you are definitely concealing a loaded weapon.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Mulder blinks awake to the sound of rain and wind, the low boom of summer thunder. The light seeping around the curtains is the thin color of skim milk and it falls on reports he brought to show her, on a stack of library books. Dana’s face down next to him, buried in the pillows. She does not share his love of mornings, of pre-dawn runs to greasy diners and the way sunrise burns mist off the road. Coffee, however, always appeases her. He plans to start a pot shortly, followed by several emergency backup pots.

A cat interrupts his thoughts, leaping from the night stand to the bed. It mews plaintively, kneading his chest with cream colored paws. Mulder gets tabby fur on his lips and up his nose when it rubs its head lovingly against his face.

“Dammit, Daggoo,” he mumbles, wiping his tongue with the sheet. “Have a little self-respect like your buddy over there.”

Across the room, Queequeg presides over the dresser. He is magnificently fluffy, the same color as his mistress’s hair.  His tail curls like an ostrich plume and he stares with feline indifference at the tableau on the bed.

Mulder deposits Daggoo on the blanket, where he resumes kneading and mewing. “Giddyup, buttercup,” Mulder says into Dana’s ear. “Time to face the consequences of your poor decisions.”

“No,” she mumbles, pulling the sheet over her head. “I must have been high on phenol when I invited my parents to brunch. Call and cancel, please. The thunder seems laden with portent.”

Daggoo, harking to the sound of her voice, bounds over to bite her hair.

“I’m not thrilled either,” Mulder observes. “But you want me to call the formidable Ahab and tell him you were drugged? That Thor is out of sorts? Sorry, but bagels and chitchat sound like the better option.”

Dana groans, rolling onto her back. She gazes at him, eyes nearly grey with unhappiness. “I got frozen waffles. I can guarantee you that one of my parents will comment that a waffle iron is a nice wedding gift.”

Mulder presses a finger to the end of her nose. “Boop. Anxiety deactivated.”

She swats his hand away. “I’m serious. They have, you know, certain ideas about things. They like that I’m a doctor, but they’re funny about the fact that all of my patients are dead.”

“Yeah, but your malpractice insurance has to be a pretty sweet deal.”

“Ugh,” she says. “You aren’t helping.” Dana props herself up on one elbow, scratching Daggoo’s chin. Queequeg deigns to leap to the bed, gracing them with his purring.

Mulder stares shamelessly down her pajama top. “I love that you have proper pajamas,” he tells her. “It’s very…hmmmm. They’re quite businesslike. It makes me feel underdressed, though.”

She peels back the sheet, revealing his bare torso and boxer shorts. “I admit that outfit makes hide-the-gun a bit of a challenge on your end.”

He glances at the morning erection tenting his underwear. “Did you know that the word vagina is from the Latin for sheath or scabbard?”

“My knowledge of anatomical terms is solid, thank you.”

“That’s not all that’s solid.” He twitches himself in her general direction.

“So if the vagina’s a sheath, why isn’t the penis called a gladius?”

“The penis mightier than the sword.”

She dumps Queequeg on his chest, and Mulder lets out a _whuff_ of air at the sudden weight.

“Tempting though your etymological foreplay is, we have to prepare this ill-conceived meal. My father will make passive-aggressive remarks disguised as questions and my mother will sweetly try to redirect him while pining for grandchildren at levels that will register on seismic equipment.”

“Is that a Corinthian column in your pocket, or are you just gladius to see me?”

Dana rolls her eyes, turning her attention to the cookbook she’d been reading last night.

Mulder twirls Queequeg’s tail around his fingers. He hadn’t planned for another serious relationship after the Diana fiasco, when she’d ripped his heart out so painlessly he hadn’t realized it was missing until the process server showed up with the divorce papers. Diana, like Phoebe, like all the other willowy brunettes he drowned himself in, left him with a vague sense of having been used. He didn’t exactly resent it, but it left him unsatisfied.

But now here he is, all set to meet the parents again. Dana Scully, wholesome as Sunday roast and fresh-baked bread. Perhaps she could be what he’s been craving.

Mulder scoots over, relocating the cats. He nuzzles his cheek against the skin exposed by Dana’s oversized top. “I can cook,” he tells her. “I make really good scrambled eggs.”

She peers down at him. “Do you? Why have these not yet made an appearance?”

He kisses her belly, her right hipbone. “It’s frankly inexcusable.”

“You’ll make it up to me,” Dana assures him, stroking his hair.

He thinks he could purr. “You’re lucky I was even single when you crashed my quiet breakfast nook at Neddy’s.”

She laughs. “I remember that a little differently.”

“Please recall that I have trained at both Oxford and Quantico, Dr. Scully. I’m a professional rememberer.”

She laughs again, that surprisingly goofy laugh for so serious a woman. It’s a sound he would like to bottle and uncork on the hardest days. He kisses her hipbone again and thinks _pelvis, basin, vessel, chalice._ The air around him is heady with the scent of her, pelagic and primal. He recalls the intriguing notion that the Holy Grail represents the sacred feminine; that it is yonic imagery alluding to the intended role of women in Dana’s Church.

She yipes in protest when he slides her pajamas down, but relents when he parts her thighs and drinks, hoping to be healed.


	4. Chapter 4

They aren’t supposed to let visitors in the autopsy bay, but Mulder has found that displaying both a badge and a sheepish grin will open certain doors. He stands next to her as she works this morning, side-eyeing the slab of ribs she’s set  on the victim’s face, maintaining a respectful distance from the brain that rests like a Band-Aid colored cauliflower on the drain board. It glistens, quivering when the table is bumped.

“So what’s up?” she asks, her voice muffled by her surgical mask. 

Mulder watches her excise the heart. “Do you remember that case a few months back with the liver guy?” he asks 

“In Baltimore. You put him away, right?”

He loves her use of cop slang, her voice so precise that it boosts the vernacular into refinement. “Kind of. I got him warehoused at a facility for the emotionally interesting. But he’s out now.” 

She blinks at this. “How did he get out? Surely it’s a bit soon for good behavior.” Dana jams her finger into the aorta, wiggling it a little

“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But he’s got them convinced he’s a wayward lamb of some kind, and is currently being tucked in every night by some elderly do-gooders.”

She snorts. “For their sakes, I hope they’re heavy drinkers.” 

“Light a candle to Our Blessed Lady of Cirrhosis, won’t you? Listen, Dana. I have reason to think that you could be at risk from this individual.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

Mulder sighs his, brow furrowed. “He has a vendetta against me which, you know, I don’t take personally. But you know that necklace you left on the bathroom sink and couldn’t find? That tortoiseshell comb?”

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “You think he took them from your apartment?

He nods, hating the idea of Tooms pawing Gollum-like at Dana’s things

She thumps the heart down on the drain board. “So what, then?” she asks, selecting a long, serrated knife. The heart slices easily under it, sections falling away like rare roast beef.

“So I was thinking I’d have some agents keep an eye on you,” he says, waiting for her anger.

She doesn’t disappoint. “I do not need a babysitter,” she snaps.

“They’re not babysitters. They’re federal agents whose job it is to protect the public from violent criminals. You don’t have a gun, you don’t have any kind of combat training, and this guy’s nuts, Dana. And he can slither into spaces ferrets wouldn’t touch.”

She scowls at him. “I have self-defense training. You think I’m unaware of the dangers of being a woman in a dangerous city? You think I haven’t gotten threats before based on my work? You testify in enough DC natural cases, you start to piss people off.”

He hadn’t considered it, actually, and feels a bit stupid. “I don’t want to be responsible for harm coming to you in some way.”

Dana turns her attention to the bubblegum sponge of a lung. “I appreciate your concern. But really, I wasn’t living in some kind of whimsical Disney village until you swept in on a dark horse and carried in the stormclouds. I deal with violence every day.”

“I know, but this guy is-“

She stops him with a blood smeared palm. “Look, if he makes some kind of overt threat we can revisit the option but right now, no.”

Mulder, frustrated but accepting, nods. "You want to come by for dinner tonight?

She smiles. "Very subtle.”

He rolls his eyes. “This isn’t an excuse to keep a close eye on you, princess. I thought we could get sandwiches and watch Frasier”

She laughs. “Princess? Well, we regret to inform you that we are dining with our sister this evening, so we shall have to take a raincheck.”

Mulder jams his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He is glad that she won’t be alone. “Tell Sister Melissa to cast a protective charm on you or something, hmmm?”

“I’ll send her a telepathic message right away.”

Mulder reaches over to tug her surgical mask down. He gives her a quick kiss on the lips, then sets it back in place. “Enjoy your vegan organic tofu seaweed surprise. I’ll think of you while I’m knocking back roast beef and beer.”

She gives him the finger before he heads back upstairs.

***

Melissa twines her chopsticks through the noodles in her bowl. “So you’re still dating the federale, huh?”

Dana adds chopped cilantro to her bowl. “I am.”

“Played with his handcuffs yet?

"Just his service piece.”

The women grin at one another.

“He seems okay, actually,” Melissa says with an air of concession. “For a narc. He know how much weed you smoked in your wild youth?”

“It hasn’t come up but he’s, you know, he’s open-minded about things in general.”

“Unlike some people.” Melissa fires a straw wrapper at her little sister. “I bet Dad hates him.”

Dana sighs, poking at her pho. “A divorced Jewish atheist is not exactly what he had in mind when I told him I was seeing someone, no.”

“Well, hey. At least you’re not fucking another married professor, right?”

Dana glares. “Remind me why I said I’d have dinner with you again.”

Melissa tosses her curls. “Because I’m a delight, kiddo. I’m a blessed delight. Sven and I are having some friends over for Solstice, do you two want to come?”

“Um, let me ask him but yeah, sure. Sounds fun.” She imagines Mulder and herself, leaning awkwardly against batik draped sofas and getting whacked in the forehead by dangling dreamcatchers. She is amused by the thought of Mulder being out-weirded.

They slurp at their soup for a time, coasting in the easy silence of familiarity.

“So you gonna marry him or what?” Melissa asks, draining her wineglass. “Tara was a lovely bride, but Mom’s hungry to get one of us veiled and vowed, and I suspect it won’t be me.” She smirks, presumably at the idea of herself as a demure church bride.

Dana shrugs. “I don’t know, it hasn’t been that long, really. I haven’t given it much thought.” She does so now, however. “His divorce wasn’t all that long ago and honestly, there are some ….considerations regarding his work.”

“Like?”

She leans forward, dropping her voice. “He’s working on a case right now, a case with some crazy guy who broke into his apartment at one point and he’s concerned I might be at risk.”

Melissa’s eyes widen.

“I’m not worried exactly but that’s something to consider in this relationship, you know? Like, when your significant other brings his work home and his work wants to eat your liver.”

“Psycho killer,” Melissa sings. “Qu'est-ce que c'est.”

“Thanks, Missy. That’s helpful.”

Melissa reaches over to squeeze her sister’s hand. “This isn’t what I meant when I said ‘Fuck the Man,’ Dana. But honestly, he seems like a nice guy from the few minutes we met. He clearly makes you happy, he’s smart, the cats approve. Also, if I may, he’s hot as shit.”

Dana grins. “You may.” She hands her credit card to the waitress, waving off her sister’s attempts to pay. “So you want to go for dessert? There’s a really good ice cream place around the corner.”

“I don’t know, you’re a marked woman. Am I going to get taken down by this weirdo with a fixation on your boy? I’d hate to die for a scoop of Rocky Road.”

“I’ll protect you,” Dana says. “I know kung fu.”


	5. Chapter 5

The memories come in flashes through the haze of pain meds, in bright snippets of color and loud scraps of noise. An arm through the ductwork, a jaundiced face. She shakes her head clear but he returns to haunt the dark behind her eyelids, Mulder’s improbable killer. Such things she has seen, but he is the worst of them all and his breath is hot on her face again, fetid and bilious.

She thrashes, calling for help, or perhaps only remembering that she did, but the nurses come to quiet her just the same.

***

Her right side is clawed and bruised and raw, and a light touch reveals her neck is likely purple and black too. There are scabbed defensive wounds on her hands and arms, what feels like a broken tailbone. Margaret Scully is at her bedside, looking tense.

“Mom,” Dana croaks, her throat swollen and sticky and sore.

“Oh thank God!” Her mother’s hand is warm and soft on hers, smelling of Jergen’s cherry-almond lotion.

Dana lets her lids slide closed against bruised cheeks. “Asleep long?” she mumbles thickly, already drained again.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for almost three days. We’ve been worried sick about you, honey. Oh, Dana!”

Dana knows the pictures that were likely taken when she was brought in, the examinations her mother had to authorize. “Missy?”

“She’s been at your place, taking care of the cats.”

She wants to ask about Mulder but can’t remember how. She wants to ask if the man – Tooms, was it? – hurt him. What happened to Tooms after she –

But it is exhausting to be this exhausted and Dana falls back into the gentle arms of sleep.

***

Mulder’s there when she wakes up this time.

“Hey,” she manages, swallowing. The swelling seems to have gone down. “Don’t say you told me so.”

His smile is warm. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She wonders what he does dream of, what he takes home with him at night. They haven’t had that talk yet, afraid to conjure one another’s demons, perhaps. She pats her face gingerly. “How bad?”

Mulder runs his pointer finger down the bridge of her nose. “Well, you’re not at your best, but you should see the other guy.”

Dana frowns. “Dead?”

Mulder nods, his eyes dark. “Yeah.”

She’s killed a man. She has committed a homicide. Tooms coming down through the vent, Tooms on top of her, sounds of growling and screaming as they struggled for purchase on the wet floor. He swatted her fingers away like moths. One hand somehow wrapped entirely around her throat while the other scrabbled at the shower-damp skin of her abdomen.

She remembers the way she gagged and coughed, the way the heel of his hand dug painfully against her clavicles. The way her eyes felt ready to pop. The world spun and blackened as he straddled her, and she hated the indignity of this death. She would not allow it, she could not be bared before her colleagues in such a fashion.

Tooms shook her as she fought, perhaps trying to snap her neck and hurry her along. Dana remembers the way the boxcutter glinted next to the scale. She’d left it there after deciding to recaulk the base of the toilet.

Somehow she snatched and opened it, somehow she found his femoral artery and his hot blood bathed her as she was reborn.

***

Late afternoon by the color of the light and it’s Mulder and Missy and Mom at her bedside this time. Missy’s hair is backlit by the sun and she looks so regal, so beautiful, so vitally alive that Dana suddenly wants to cry for the fragility of it.

She tests her throat with a swallow and finds it painful but not excruciating. She is too afraid to ask for a mirror still, too afraid to see petechiae in her living eyes.

“Melissa’s here,” her mother says. “I told her you asked for her. And Fox is here too.”

“Not Fox. Mulder.”

Mulder, rumpled in a gray t-shirt, waves at her. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs as best she can. “I’ll live. In my expert medical opinion.” There will be scars, though. She knows that too.

“Dana, you have to be more positive,” her mother says. 

Melissa puts a hand on their mother’s arm. “Mom, I think it would be best if we stepped out for a moment and let them talk,” she says, looking Dana in the eyes.

Dana sends her sister thanks as the two women rise and leave.

When the door clicks shut, Mulder moves to the foot of her bed. She sees the hurt in him, the fine mantle of guilt he wears like a religious habit.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

“It was my choice. Please don’t do this.” She does not need to bear his cross as well. Dana feels shaken by her own selfishness, by the risk she took for the sake of her pride. Her mother had just buried Ahab, and here she’s come so close to following after.

Mulder looks at her. “I shouldn’t have given you the option.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but what can she say? He shouldn’t have. She is a captain’s daughter and he breached protocol.

He rubs his face in his hands. “My ex-wife is an FBI agent and I said I’d never do that again. I said if I ever pursued a relationship after Diana it would be a woman with a regular life. But now I’m thinking maybe it’s best to keep it in the company, you know? To not drag someone else into this disaster.”

Dana bites her lip, nodding. “Are you dumping me in the _hospital_?”

“No! What? I was just –”

“Because I agree, Mulder, that you shouldn’t have given me a choice about a detail, and I should have known far better than to have given you grief about it. But I think I should get some say in whether or not the relationship continues.” Dana crosses her arms.

“Though she be but small she is fierce,” he quotes.

She chuckles, coughing slightly. “Just don’t presume you ‘dragged me’ anywhere, okay? I don’t like the self-pitying act.”

He takes her hand, rubbing his thumb gently over it so as not to disturb the scabs. “Duly noted.”

“You’re on notice,” Dana warns him, her voice stern.

Mulder nods, solemn. “Oh, hey. So you picked the movie last week and I had this all ready for you, but you, ah, obviously didn’t make it over…”

Dana cocks her head, curious.

Mulder produces a plastic bag and hands it to her. She extracts a video cassette.

“Super Stars of The Super Bowl,” he says happily, curling his fingers around hers. He nudges her thumb until a thumb war is engaged.

She smiles. “I knew there was a reason to live.”


End file.
